time: 10:35, morning.

day: march eleventh

place: bailey's bay, bermuda; engel residence

(My cell phone begins to ring loudly in the kitchen as I watch television in the den. I warp over to it, wondering what's going on and why when I move it's blurry. I go to pick up the phone, but I hear nothing. However, the reaction on my face says different. The reaction spells horror.)

(I wake up, realizing it was just a dream. I'm fairly sweaty and I decide to step out of bed. I look at the clock and stretch a bit, making my white undershirt come up to reveal a bit of my stomach. I walk over to the bathroom and wash my face and hands. Mia stirs around a bit in the bed, but she's still asleep. She must be having a dream herself, hopefully it's a nice one and not like the ones I have. I would feel terrible if she had those. I close the bathroom door and hop into the shower.)

(About ten minutes later, I walk out of the steamy bathroom in tan Dockers, a black Harley Davidson one hundred year anniversary shirt, and my hair slicked back a bit. I keep the door open and crack a window to let out the steam. It's funny how hardly anyone I know has a closet in their bathroom, I mean, why not? It's brilliant. Keep your clothes in your bathroom, it's not like you shower in your room now do you? Unless you live in a really pleasant prison. Medium security, I suppose.)

(I sit in the kitchen waiting for my pot of coffee to start brewing; I have it configured to brew at eleven am because I like to take a half hour or so after I wake up to collect my thoughts about a dream I had or the day before. I can't drink coffee and do that at the same time; it's sort of like meditating, but it's not because I don't sit on the floor and cross my legs indian style.)

(The time passes and my coffee pot begins to brew. Already I can smell the fresh and tasteful beans of Maxwell House coffee. You'd figure most people with money and importance would actually get their coffee straight from Columbia, but I resort to the grocery store stuff. It tastes just as good and it does the job of waking me up just fine. I can't remember anything about the dream I had last night, except the fact that my cell phone ring and I didn't like who was on the other end. That's all I can remember, which really sucks. I called that therapist and told him my problems and he told me to try to recollect everything about my dreams and write them down, because he has a theory on what's happening to me. He didn't discuss it with me because we haven't had a session yet, but once we have a few sessions and he gets to know me, he probably will. Why would he have said anything about it if he didn't plan on telling me? Therapists are even smarter than that, I'm sure.)

(I hear the shower running again. Mia must've just woke up. Sometimes my coffee-pot can be loud, but damn I hope that didn't wake her up because she's a much heavier sleep than that. She was up late last night helping out Alexia, who has some big tests in school today. I wanted to help her, but Mia and I flipped on a coin on it since we work better alone than together, and she won. Let's face it, we're both academic geniuses and we clash a lot when it comes to academics and the way to do things; Alexia doesn't need two of them unless her and Mia are both stumped on something. However, I wasn't woken up last night so I guess they figured out everything alright.)

(My coffee finshes and I pull the pot away from the machine, pouring myself a fresh cup. I let it sit for a bit or else I wouldn't have a tongue anymore. My cell phone rings and I freeze. I'm scared to answer it, but I do anyway.)

(I hang up. It was just Dustin telling me I have another match this Sunday against a few ACW competitors. Great, two matches in one night? This should be fan-fucking-tastic. What is Viktor and his new esteemed Vice President up to by booking me when they know I have a match at Mourning Glory? I guess they feel I don't work hard enough. Whatever. I've done this plenty of times, one more won't hurt.)

Mia: Good morning, sweetie. How'd you sleep?

(Mia walks into the kitchen, grabbing a coffee jug out of the cupboard and pouring herself a cup of coffee as well. She sits down next to me at the kitchen table.)

virus: Hey...I slept okay. I had a dream, but I can barely remember it. I have to write it down sometime today for the doc, you know.

Mia: Yeah, anything unusual?

virus: Just a cell-phone call from someone I apparently don't like, that's all.

Mia: And you don't believe it happened, right?

virus: Funny enough, it doesn't feel like it did happen. Not like the past dreams I've had. Maybe my malfunction is getting naturally fixed and I don't need to see a therapist.

Mia: You should go see him anyway, you never know.

virus: True. How'd you sleep? I noticed you stirred a bit when I was getting up and showering. Everything okay?

Mia: Oh yeah, don't worry. I had a dream, nothing to be scared of. The thing is, my dream already happened - last night.

(She winks at me and I smile a huge smile, slightly laughing because last night was great.)

virus: Well, I got to do something - apparently I have another match on Sunday against some kind folk over in ACW.

Mia: Two matches? You're going to be so tired after Sunday. Alexia has a basketball game on Monday, don't forget.

virus: I won't and I promise I won't be too tired or messed up to come. These matches are cakewalks, honey.

(I give her a kiss on the lips and she walks into the den with her coffee, turning on the television, but keeping it at a reasonable volume. I set up my video camera to capture the backyard of my beautiful lot and the sun shining bright in Bermuda. I sit back down in my designated spot, grabbing the remote and hitting record.)

virus: Let's see, I have a match on march thirteenth against TDR at Mourning Glory. Doesn't anyone see that in ACW's Front Office? I guess not and I don't think they'd care if they knew anyway. However, since I'm booked, I'll show up - I'll fight - I'll give it my best - and well, win or lose, I'll still be ten times better than the other competitors in this bout.

Sara Nemo and The Phantom. Who and who, I might ask. I know nothing personally about these people other than the fact that Nemo likes to send notes to people to get the special attention she wants that ninety-nine percent of the people she knows won't give her. What's wrong with you, girl? Apparenlty a lot, but sending notes to people who don't give a flying fuck about you is not going to get their nerves going. No, it certainly won't. Now, you beating Flynn in the ring and getting that title? That gets their nerves going. No one gives a shit about a note written by some insane woman.

However, they care if you take their titles or pride. Oh yes, they do. Flynn was outraged that he lost to you. I assure you all of SiD was outraged. That's where you hit them, Nemo, that's where you hit them low and hard. So please, do us all a favor and knock off the seventh grade antics before someone takes it too far and ends up pummeling you into oblivion.

Then what will you do? Nothing. Even with that Tempest Title, you'd still be the joke of this community. If you don't stop, you'll probably end up the joke with or without the unnecessary beat-down.

Anyway, I'm done coaching you, now it's time to bring you down a notch. I understand you beat a high-caliber wrestler like Jamie Flynn; I understand you're a champion, even though you weigh half of what I do. I understand that, even though you're a midget compared to most wrestlers, you still beat people left and right. That's great and all, Nemo, and I'm impressed with your current accolades right here in ACW.

But do you see this face? That impression was gone the moment I heard you got stuck fighting me.

And I do mean stuck because now, well, you're not going to get off that easy. I don't know if you'll win or lose, Nemo, but I assure you you'll walk away from that match thinking about all the wrong moves you made and I exposed. That's what I'm best at because the first mistake you make will be the mile-long line of more mistakes, which lead down to your eventual demise.

Ding ding, says the bell. Engel Engel, says the announcer.

You could say that you're perfect and you won't make any mistakes, but no one's perfect and if you're that ignorant to believe that you are, then you don't even belong in the same company as me, let alone the same fucking ring.

(I shake my head a bit.)

However, I'm not perfect. I might not even catch your mistakes, you never know, but you better plan on me exposing every mistake you make because nine times out of ten, I'm going to do so. Nine times out of ten, I come out victorious.

Nine times out of ten, I beat champions without even taking their title. I don't need a title to say I'm great, everyone and their brother already knows that.

And now it's time for you to feel that.

Nemo, I hope you can stop worrying about the people who you think are out to get you and are out to get rid of you and concentrate on me during this match. And I say me because I'm your competition, not Phantom. Phantom is a huge motherfucker, this is true, but you know what they say - the bigger they are the harder they fall. And he will fall so fucking hard that reality will shake your mind and you'll realize that, when it comes to that ring, I am true greatness.

And he? He's not. He's useless. God blessed me with the talent, not him.

So please, stop worrying about your so-called enemies and concentrate on this match, because I don't want any of your bitchin' after it. I don't want any of your PMS after it, either. If you even bring our match up in a promo after it, I'll tell Jamie Flynn where you live.

And no, Jamie, I won't even brag to you about beating her, if I do, and bring up the fact that you couldn't. That's low. You can expect something more damaging from me, if we ever square off.

(He looks into a camera with a slight smile that spells mischief, mayhem.)

Now, the Phantom? I've seen this guy wrestle and well; he's big, slow, strong, and stupid. As long as I wrestle like I usually do, I should have no problems. I've studied a couple of Abyss tapes that include him and Nemo, not even knowing that I had to face them this Sunday. I basically watched them to get a glimpse of TDR and his oldness. Phantom, I don't think you know who you're up against and I don't think you care.

However, you're going to wish you would have cared after Sunday. I can guarantee you that. Nemo will wish it too because like always, I'll get underestimated and not even be considered to win this match.

The fans want me to win, my few friends in this business want me to win, my family wants me to win; but you two? I'm sure you won't even throw a "you'll be tough" my way. I can understand that, that's fine. You guys have too much pride in order to do that, so I never expect anything from anybody in this sport anymore. But, after this match? Whether you say it on air or not, you will think of me as the toughest wrestler you've ever faced.

You will think of me as a wrestling icon because when I grace the ring and that bell rings, you'll be hit with nothing but legend.

Legend, after legend, after legend.

I'd like to thank the Academy.

(I chuckle.)

However, Nemo will spout off about how she's fucking insane and she'll kill me.

The Phantom will say that he'll just throw me outside of the ring and into the stands.

And me? I'm sitting here telling you both right now - greatness will walk into that ring and out of that ring better than both of you, no matter what.

(I turn off the camera and take the first sip of my coffee, enjoying it thoroughly. I put the video camera back into the corner and join my lovely wife in the den. I sit close to her, holding her hand.)